Project Helena
by neworldiscoverer
Summary: A week in, they decided to share the king-sized bed. It was stupid to keep trading off on the crappy couch. It killed his back and her neck, both of them too tall to fit comfortably. Already Jane's kicked him once in the gut and blamed it on a nightmare. He thinks she was just sore at him after he beat her at chess.
1. Chapter 1

"Rizzoli's looking for a new partner," Ollie says with a mouthful of sandwich. Sam reaches across the sticky deli table and picks the discarded pickle off his friend's plate. "Yeah? What's wrong with the old one?" he asks, taking a bite. Dan Mateo was a stand-up guy, graduated from the academy a year before his class had; Shaw, Barber, Rizzoli, Williams and Best. Oliver wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, gratefully taking the napkin Sam tosses at his face. "Thanks brother." He leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach contentedly. "Anyways, Mateo got put on probation. Turns out he was dealing with the same guys that they were trying to bring in." Sam can feel his eyebrows work their way up his forehead. He thought that Rizzoli and Mateo had been tight, always came back from their ops with a win. They were known for their success. "Cover story turned real, huh?" Oliver flips a potato chip into the air and opens his mouth to catch it. Sam snorts. The chip hits Oliver between the eyes. "Yep. You ah, should talk to the brass about it." Oliver catches Sam's eye pointedly. "No really, man. You should. It's the perfect job for you."

Sam's wanted to get into Guns and Gangs, the city's specialized drug control unit, ever since he learned that it existed. Way before the academy even. It was no secret to the group of friends he ran around with at the academy. Rizzoli was the only one who never poked fun of him for his single minded goal. Maybe because it was one of the things they had in common. Open positions were rare and highly competitive when they were available. Rizzoli had gotten in, first try, and no one was surprised. Sam had graduated with honors, too, but Rizzoli one-upped him just as much as he reciprocated the favor in classes and tests. He and Rizzoli would make a solid team. He used to live for the dream of working DCU until he became a beat cop and had to forget it for a few years. It was getting to him. It had always gotten to him and now here was his chance, just dangling from a stick in front of him. He wanted to grab it. He had to come up with a better proposal than "we'd make a good team, sir" if he wanted to sell himself to the brass. He tries to think, waiting outside of the sergeant's office, but Boyko was already motioning him in. Sam rubs his clammy hands together and mentally curses Oliver for convincing him that this was a good idea.

"Swarek!" Boyko claps him hard on the shoulder and it's the first time that Sam doesn't need to fight the urge to wince. "Good timing. Guns and Gangs called. A position's opened up and I gave them your name. I figured it was an opportunity that you'd be interested in." Sam snaps his mouth shut. "Yessir. Thank you sir." Boyko waves his hand dismissively. "You should hear from them soon. Apparently Rizzoli already requested you by name. You know each other?" Sam is breathless. "Yeah-I mean, yes sir. We graduated the academy in the same year, sir."

Oliver practically crows behind the desk at booking when Sam makes it downstairs to tell him the news after shift.

Friday night, they hike it out across town to The Dirty Robber, so Jerry can meet them for drink after his shift at 27. Sam's head is already swimming by that time. He has his first briefing on Monday morning. "Rizzoli'll be there?" Jerry asks. He's growing out a mustache and it gives him a very dated look, like maybe he belongs in another era, time-traveler-esque. "Think so," Sam says and doesn't want to risk nodding his head. He orders a burger and fries. "Lucky you," Jerry commented, off-handed but with a suggestive wink. "This isn't luck, man. It's destiny!" Oliver says, loud and boisterous, almost drops his beer on the counter.

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A/N; I don't know what I am doing. If this is something I should continue, please let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Yep. Rizzoli's there alright. Sam pushes open the door to the conference room and she's sitting with her back to him. Her hair's pulled back in a ponytail, unruly even still, and the same broad, bony shoulders that he remembers from the academy. Jerry called her butch on their first day and never again. Jerry used to be like that, a complete douche in new situations, whenever he was unsettled. Jane fixed that right away. It made for a memorable first day.

"Thank you for joining us, Officer Swarek." Their handler already sounds cranky. Jane glances over at him when he takes the seat beside her and offers him a nod of acknowledgement, all business and not like someone who supposedly requested him. By name. Sam feels out of place and new, even though he's been a cop for over three years. He trains his eyes straight ahead so he won't be tempted to sneak glances at her. She has a great poker face, he should know, he's been beat by her more times than he'd ever care to share.

Project Helena is pretty straightforward. On paper it is the perfect operation for someone new to deep cover. Sam had excelled at in-and-out UCs, even as a rookie. He's not sure how different this'll be. Surely it will be. It seems very serious, laying out all of his personal items, things that tie him to his life. Things that tell him who he is; without them he is unidentifiable. He can be someone else. Rizzoli looks almost bored as she strips herself of her wallet, badge, and wristwatch. He notices that she hesitates only when placing a pocket knife on the tray, flipping it over to read something engraved into the handle. The moment passes quickly and she's soon swinging her arms and cracking her knuckles, anxious to get on the road. She has a backpack and he has a messenger bag stuffed with only essential clothing. It's very Mission Impossible-esque, leaving in the cover of night, no contact with anything or anyone familiar. Except for Jane. Sam keeps looking at her, he doesn't know why. He's not looking for comfort or reassurance, not from her, but something. When she finally notices him looking at her, turning her head from the passenger seat to where he sits in the back of the SUV, she smiles at him and Sam doesn't feel so new.

He tried to say goodbye to Oliver and Jerry. But it didn't feel like a real departure, if only because he didn't know how it was supposed to feel. Jerry bought them shots and Sam threw back the patron like he was still in college and appreciated the burn. Oliver slapped him hard on the back. "Go get 'em, tiger." Jerry howled, Sam laughed.

"Home sweet home." Jane drops her backpack on the floor and walks through the apartment in long, sweeping strides. Sam crosses the threshold behind her. "You alright?" She looks back at him, her head poking out from a doorway, the sound of a laugh caught in her throat, heard in her words. He grins, quick like a grimace. A flash, there and gone. "Yeah." She laughs then. "If you say so, Swarek." She looks happy, exploring every nook and cranny in the barely furnished studio. One bedroom, one bath. It's tiny. She looks thrilled. Sam feels sick. He pushes the grocery cart in the corner store while she tosses food into it like she's making free throws. "Tell me, how did Sasha meet Matt?" she asks, leaning over him to grab cans of soup. Sam hasn't eaten soup from a can in ages. He nearly misses what she's getting at, but catches it before it sails on overhead. Those are their cover names and they need a backstory if they're going to be posing as a couple. "They went to the same school." She nods like it's a satisfactory answer. He's quicker on his feet this time. Grabs some fresh produce so they don't overdose on all of the instant microwaveable meals she's binged on. "We met in detention." She laughs and it even sounds pretty. He's beginning to catch the buzz of her adrenaline. "So we were high school sweethearts?" She's teasing, but his face still turns red, he's pretty sure. They've strung together a rough cover story timeline by the time they finish checking out.

It's the cameras making him uneasy. They are his excuse. He doesn't think that she takes him seriously until she pulls him aside, into the small bathroom that feels even smaller and crowded when there are two people inside. "You've gotta knock it off, Sam," she says and it's the first time all this time that she's not called him by his last name. He is defensive. "What?" He frowns when he says it, pulling back. She shuts the door. The bathroom is very very warm. There aren't any cameras in the bathroom. "You know how this is going to look on tape," he says, accusing. "Everyone's already making bets on how long it will take for us to sleep together," she shoots back, practically hissing. Sam shuts up. "What is wrong with you anyway? I didn't think you were going to be like this." She looks exasperated, flustered. "Just-" She stops talking and heaves out a sigh, a single deep exhale. Runs her hands through her hair, her fingers catching on the snarls. "Get it together, man." For some reason it makes Sam angry, a sudden spark in his chest. "You can't just say that. It doesn't work like that, Jane!" She stares at him, like he's grown a second head or a tail. He goes on, "You can't force someone to take it easy. You can't just tell them to relax and have it happen. People don't work like that!" She scowls and picks at the dirt under her nails. She doesn't look as uneasy as he feels in the silence. "Okay," she says finally, "Okay, so… like what? Are you nervous? Scared? Do you want to talk about it?" The words seem strange, coming out of her mouth, like they are a foreign language to her. Sam is still seeing red. He grips the edge of the counter, watches his knuckles turn white. She sits on the toilet cover and crosses her legs. Goes for another approach. "Sam." He looks at her. Her brown eyes are dark and serious. "Look, I asked for you 'cause I remembered how much you wanted to work undercover. I know you can do this. You've wanted this for years. Please don't psych yourself out. Because you were ready for this a long time ago. Go with your gut." She stands up and slinks out the door. He exhales the breath he didn't know he had been holding. Sam follows suit a minute later and he doesn't care what the camera sees.

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**A/N;** I told myself I'd finish and post this story if I got one review on it. So this is all thanks to you, SamSidle82! (:


	3. Chapter 3

She takes inventory at the main warehouse, manages the shipping and the billing at the office. It's their inside job, an integral part of Project Helena. They're supposed to find something for him to do, ideally something that can be linked to their main man, her boss. James Gomez. Wanted for money laundering. That's only the tip of the iceberg, but they need hard evidence to bring him in. Sam is itching, pulling on the reins for a piece of the action. Jane suggests a restaurant that Gomez frequents with his company's partners. "Ever bartended?" she asks, sitting at the dining table with him. Sam's got yesterday's newspaper spread out, flipped open to the wanted section of the classifieds. He shakes his head in answer. "Too bad." She's sprawled out in the chair, legs spread. Jane tips her head back. Sam glances up, sees the long line of her neck and chin. "I probably can get you in as a dishwasher or busboy at The Crane's. You down with that?" The tips of his fingers are gray from the newspaper ink. He tears his eyes off of her. "Yeah, of course." Sam's tired of sitting in the apartment while she goes off and works. He's getting cabin fever and it's only been three days.

It's not like he can even get a real job. Everything needs to go through their handler, Rosati, and Sam has yet to catch her in a good mood. Potential employers need to be screened, bosses and co-workers need background checks. Forms need to be filled and signed. Basically it's a ton of paperwork to process and he can understand why it would be easier to let Matt waste away his days vegging out in front of the couch. The mere thought of it makes Sam feel like he might go insane. "What was Mateo's usual role in your other UCs?" Sam asks. Jane's out of breath, gulping down a glass of water. She tries to go for a run most mornings. Sam had caught her, that first week, sneaking out for a run at 9pm. He had called her on it. This city was no place for a girl to go out running alone in the middle of the night, cop or otherwise, not in their neighborhood. He had a point and a good one at that. And Jane knew it. She had reluctantly seceded and now Sam wakes to an empty bed and lies there worrying if she's even two minutes late. She didn't tell him when she added and extra mile to her run last week. Sam was about to dial the station, call the whole operation off, when she came in, sweaty and six minutes behind schedule.

Jane glances over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow quirking up as she fills her glass at the sink. "Dunno. Why?" She starts in on her second glass and Sam has to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling her not to drink so much when she's not sufficiently cooled off. "Rizzoli," he says, because she's not giving him a straight answer, exasperated. She sets the empty glass in the sink and hops up onto the counter. "Swarek." She makes a face at him and twirls the end of her ponytail. He's quiet, waits for a real answer, which she does finally give him. "Dan and I worked from a lot of different angles. I guess our most common one was the brother/sister route. One of us would be the sibling who helped the other out after a big life change, get back on his or her feet, get a job at the same workplace, that sort of thing." She swings her legs and her heels knock against the cabinets. "You're not comparing yourself with him, are you?" Sam looks sharply at her, a frown etched deep on his face. "No. I just don't know why I wasn't given a more productive role. Does Rossati just expect me to sit and twiddle my thumbs and marathon Dancing with the Stars?" Jane covers her mouth with her hand and snorts back a peal of laughter. Sam feels like stomping his foot. "Okay, so three things. One, I can't believe you just said "twiddle." Two, DWTS is quality entertainment and three, I don't make the rules. Look, I'm trying to get my friend Korsak to take the lead on our project. He'll prioritize your job and get you out there and working." He must look doubtful because she takes a look at his face and keeps talking. "Korsak was my T.O. when I was a rookie and a damn good one. They transferred him over to Vice before, you know," she makes a snipping motion with her fingers in front of her chest. "before my tie got cut. He ran me and Danny a couple times when we first started. Smoothest operations to date. Rosati's good, don't get me wrong, she's just finicky."

They're making a midnight run to the store for milk. Jane tried to make cookies. Sam tried to keep her from burning down the building. Much to his surprise, her results were edible. Jane made him put on pants to get the milk. Wouldn't let him eat the cookies without it. "Never leave your partner behind," she said and he grumbled about the wrong context, but pulled on a pair of jeans. She's walking in front of him now, the gallon jug in one of her hands as she traipses along the road, swinging it around like she's a competitive curler. Sam stays on the sidewalk. Whips his head around when he hears a car engine, eyes peeled for it when it rounds the corner. Jane jumps back onto the sidewalk. "What?" Serious now, her brown eyes focused and intent. "Nothin'." He stuffs his hands back into his pockets. The car passes them. He can see her breath in the air, puffs of white, and she's not wearing a coat. He frowns. She's still looking at him. "Sounded like Jerry's car, is all." She tips her chin and walks backwards, facing him. "Hey, remember when he-" Jane's eyes flash deviously and she grins. Sam grins back. "Yeah. Who could forget that first day?" Sam shakes his head and chuckles. They still have three more blocks to go. They're in the stairwell when she asks him, "Did you think that I was butch?" Sam's utterly confused. She looks disappointed when she reads it, clear as day, on his face. Her left hand's gripping the front doorknob like she needs it to survive. "No, of course not," he answers automatically, rubs the back of his neck and wonders where that question came from. She looks like she doesn't believe him.

_"__Whoa, whoa, I didn't mean anything by it Rizzoli!" He's already wheezing, hands clawing at her long fingers, wrapped around his throat. _

_"__Yeah, he didn't mean it," Oliver practically whines, an echo. _

_Sam doesn't say a thing, just watches her holding Jerry against the wall. He doesn't know what changes, but her grip loosens and she lets Jerry down. _

_He bends over his knees and catches his breath. "I'm sorry," he says to his shoes. _

_She bends down and stares at him until he meets her gaze. "Sorry for what, Barber?" Her voice is ice, deep and brittle. _

_"__I'm sorry for calling you butch. You're not. I'm sorry."_

It's the first night that they can turn the surveillance cameras off. Sam feels strangely free, like maybe he wants to walk around the apartment in nothing but his boxers and sing along to the radio. Jane still looks serious, pouring two tall glasses of milk and he doesn't have the heart to tell her that he doesn't drink milk. Watches her dip half of a cookie into her glass. He picks the chocolate chips out and eats them. He knows his forehead is furrowed and that it pushes his eyebrows together. "You okay?" he asks, his voice cracking uncharacteristically. But he's not used to the feeling hanging in the air between them. It's too brooding, foreboding.

"Truth or dare." She sounds irritated, even when she tells him to play. Sam usually protests. He really doesn't care for the game, although most would never guess that with how often they play it. It makes for conversation, especially when it's between two people who normally suck at initiating and holding conversations. He says "truth" like he always does when she makes him pick first. Her eyes are narrowed, gaze steely, like this isn't a game. Not tonight. Tonight it's more like an interrogation. "Tell me what people have said about me and Dan." Sam stays quiet, as if that'll help him think of the words he needs. "What people?" he stalls and plays dumb, but also feels like he's possibly drowning, in a state of slight confusion and mild panic. "At work. What do they say around the break room? Do they think we're together or anything like that?" Sam had never taken her for someone even remotely interested, much less caring, about what kind of impression she left, what kind of reputation she has. "They… do…" he starts cautiously. Doesn't want to stick his neck out far enough to get it chopped off. "I think the general consensus is that you're friends with benefits." Jane looks thoughtful, munches on another cookie, shifts to a more open posture in her chair. "What do you think?" she asks. Sam wants to tiptoe through the situation, no, he wants to turn back and run from the loaded question. No safety. It feels fragile and he feels like an elephant in a glass room. He doesn't tell her that she's only allowed one question per turn. He has a feeling that she isn't interested in adhering to the rules of the game. "I know that Dan has a wife and kids. I didn't think-" He glances at her, nervous all of a sudden like there's going to be a quiz on this that he hasn't learned, something that the books haven't covered. "I don't think that you were ever anything more than his partner." Jane leans against the backrest of her chair, makes a soft sound in the back of her throat like he's given her something to mull over. "Well, you're right," she says it defensively and he wonders how many times she's walked in on a conversation in the barn and had to hear whispered rumors and cut-short speculations. He thinks he would have the same look in his eyes that she does now. "Dan and I never, never crossed that line." She's wringing her hands under the table, Sam notices. He wonders when it changed to her being the nervous one. "Dan also knows something no one else at the precinct does." She locks eyes with him. "It's something you need to know now. It's why I asked for you. I thought- I think…" Jane leans forward on her elbows. "I can trust you." Sam wasn't expecting this. He feels like he's on the edge, about to go over and free fall on a rollercoaster, g-force pushing and pulling, out of control. Jane gulps down the rest of her milk. Wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. Her lips are very pink. She looks partly like she's going to hurl her cookies and partly like she's being led to the guillotine. "I have a girlfriend. Her name is Maura and she's the assistant medical examiner. We've been together for two years." Her cheeks are pink, but not from shame or embarrassment. "She's a coroner?" Sam stares at her before remembering to blink. "Pretty much, sure." Jane seems astounded, for good reason, that he singled that out of everything she just said. She waits for it and he blurts, "So you're gay?" Sam knows he is an idiot. An actual idiot.

He can tell that his question is more what she was expecting. She relaxes into it, takes a bite of cookie and shrugs. "I guess. I just know that I love her, that's all." She's looking at him like he's a book she's trying to read. "You cannot tell anyone about this. About us," she adds and looks guarded, as if daring him. Sam wouldn't dream of it. "Why not?" he asks, speaking before thinking again. He's probably had an aneurysm. His thought to speech process is having major issues. Jane is frowning. Sam wants to hit himself in the face. "I get enough flak for being the only female officer working Vice. Add in the fact I'm vying for homicide detective and that doesn't make me very popular. The last thing I need is rumors floating around about my sexual orientation and who I am or am not doing it with." He can tell that she's holding something back from him still. Three years and he remembers her tells. She's kneading the knuckles of one hand into her other palm. Sam waits. She exhales through her nose. Sam has a lot of questions. Doesn't quite know how to ask them. So he doesn't. Jane takes dares from him until they go to bed at four in the morning. Still, he lies awake in bed and blames the sugar buzz for the headache and the milk for the upset stomach.

He gets the job and Matt's a busboy at The Crane's. Jane has an expression on her face that he can't read when he gets back to the apartment one evening, just a few minutes after her because his bus was late. "You okay?" She nods. "Gomez mentioned you today," she says. Sam pulls out the open package of frozen waffles from the freezer. "Oh yeah?" She nods again. "I brought it up. Asked if he'd seen my boyfriend at Crane's. He said he had, after I described you, and then he asked if you'd ever been a dockworker." Sam looks over from where he's waiting in front of the toaster. "That it?" he asks. "That was it," she confirms and the look doesn't leave her face. Sam thinks she looks mildly curious. He belatedly registers the look as pride.

He's a cop, for goodness sake. Of course he notices the pregnancy test box in the wastebasket. It makes his heart stop and his chest hurt. He doesn't understand. Sam pushes the panic down into his stomach and holds in it a ball there. Jane will explain. And when she doesn't, he pretends that he never saw it. Sam pretends to be Matt most of the time now. Thinks of it as some form of method acting. It's not something that Matt would notice. Matt would be concentrated on shaving and not cutting his face with a razorblade. Matt would be staring intently into the vanity mirror and not look down into the wastebasket. He wouldn't notice when Sasha emptied it. He wouldn't notice that she hadn't waited until it was full. Sam was Matt and Matt wouldn't know.

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**A/N;** I apologize for any mistakes, trying to get this thing out before NaNoWriMo begins. This thing is a monster. It keeps growing and growing. There will be at least 3 more chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

Every time they play, Jane never chooses the truth option. So when she does, he thinks it's a mistake and opens his eyes. She has her head on her pillow and is staring back at him. Sam was going to dare her to eat a banana while holding a handstand. He didn't have a question planned. He doesn't know what to ask her. He has too many questions and her eyes are very, very brown. "You choose," he says and her eyebrows bunch up, looking questioningly at him, her hands folded over her stomach. She looks back up at the ceiling like she's deciding if that's a fair choice. Apparently it is. "I bought a ring, you know." Her head doesn't move, but he sees her eyes flit over to him. "I meant to ask her two UCs ago." Sam's gotten used to the way she labels the passage of time in her head, by undercover operations. "Everest was a super lame project. Should have been a day-trip, in and out. I wore a wire, never got searched. Got a confession within the week. I was going to surprise her at home, she wouldn't be expecting me back that soon. I was going to pop the question. But when I got there she was curled up in the shower, the water running as cold as it would go." Jane looks devastated and Sam can't breathe watching her. His ears are ringing. "After that second miscarriage, she- we had a real rough time. I told her that I'd try, for our baby." She looks like she's waiting for the sky to fall. Sam doesn't know if he's still awake or if he's still dreaming. It's just- It's a lot, is all. Jane swallows audibly. "The pregnancy test you saw? It was positive." Sam's chest still aches. "Truth or dare," she asks quickly, her voice raspier than usual. It's clear that she wants to move on and not dwell. Which is good because Sam cannot think of a single piece of wisdom or advice that he could offer her. He picks dare and she makes his eat a spoonful of cinnamon. He chokes and spits it out onto the comforter, a cloud of powder. Jane laughs until she cries.

She lets him be there when she takes the second test. "Fuck." He can hear her through the bathroom door. He can't tell if it was a good or bad exclamation, is still trying to decipher it in his head when she bangs the door open and nearly bowls him over, running to the window and holding the white plastic stick up to the sunlight coming in. He follows her, jumping back when she thrusts it at him. "Watch it! Your pee's on that thing, jeez." She makes him look at it with her. "Two lines, that's positive," she says, but checks the back of the box again just to be sure. Sam watches for her reaction. It doesn't come until that evening, when she's bent over the refrigerator, the door hanging open. She looks over at him with the widest grin he's ever seen. He had asked her to bring him a beer when she went up to grab a new bag of chips. "What?" He takes the cold bottle from her, thumbs off the cap. "I can't drink beer anymore!" she chortles gleefully. Sam laughs. "Guess that means more for me, Rizzoli."

"What made you want to become a cop?" she asks him without any pretense. They're not even playing Truth or Dare. They're sitting on the couch, him half dozing and her downing a bowl of frosted flakes swimming in milk. It's morning and neither of them has to work until the evening, but they got out of bed because it felt like the right thing to do. He'd rather be back in bed and not answering her nosy questions. He must have taken too long to answer, because she forges ahead, in a rare talkative mood. "There was a cop that came to my school on Career Day. All the other 4th graders were scared of him. I wanted that kind of respect. Plus I thought guns were pretty cool." She pokes him with her toes, bony and sharp even through her sock. Sam doesn't get how she can wear black crew wool socks that look like they belong in the barracks. They're lint-filled from being shuffled through the cover apartment's ratty carpet. He hasn't made up his mind if he's going to answer her or not. "It's not an interesting story," he hedges. "Oh yeah, because mine is so thrilling." She can spit sarcasm like no other. She's a little miffed that he won't answer her, he can tell by her furrowed brow. Jane's an easy read. He thought that she wasn't, but he was wrong. Found that out real quick. He'd just never looked at her face long enough before. He ignores her, slouches down between the stale cushions and stretches his legs out on the coffee table. Sam can hear her rustling around in the coat closet. She comes back out with the metal safe box in her hand. Jane settles down on the floor, her back against the couch, legs crossed. He closes his eyes and hears the lid to the box open. He knows what she's doing without opening his eyes. She only cleans her gun when necessity demands it or when she in a particular mood. Usually she saves it for deep thinking.

She's putting it back together when he opens his eyes to look. The sun is brightly shining outside, but their apartment in closed up, the curtains still drawn, allowing in only marginal sunlight. He thinks she looks beautiful, lips drawn in concentration, all long limbs and angles sitting there. He feels bad for not humoring her earlier. He feels greasy and unkempt and less of a human. He wonders if this is how being undercover is supposed to feel like. Their day off, the one day they can leave the UC for a full 24 hours and do normal, real life things, is coming up and he's not sure that he wants to leave. He doesn't want to say it out loud. She might not feel the same way that he thinks she does. He might have her all wrong again, in his head. "It'll be our day off pretty soon. You got anything planned?" he asks without any pretense, waking her from her meditative state. She brushes her hair back from her face and finishes with the last piece. She places the firearm back into the safe box with a tenderness so slight that if you didn't know her, you would miss it. Sam continues, "I just thought maybe we could do something together. You know, instead of going back home, to reality." He feels awkward and can feel the flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. It feels too much like asking a girl out to a high school dance. He can feel the rejection like it's an actual object in the room. It's apparent in her voice, too. "I'm not like you, Sam." She walks back from the coat closet after shoving the door shut with her foot. "I have someone to go back to. Maura won't- She-" Jane fumbles and stops herself, as if hearing her own words. "Crap. I didn't mean it like that, I- Sam. Sam." He feels deflated, run over, flattened. "Forget it," he snaps and heaves himself up off the couch.

"Sam, stop." She's quick to the doorway of the bedroom, socks or not. Her words are spilling. "Maybe I don't want to go home to Maura. Maybe I don't want to tell her. Just… maybe I don't." She sighs after her admission. "Maybe I don't want reality." She's right in front of him, almost touching because he wants her to stand down, wants her to move but she won't. "I feel dirty and used up and I just want to finish this project. I want to get the bad guys. I'm not ready to go home. I didn't mean what I said, about you not having-" He wants her to stop talking. He doesn't like to hear her apologizing. So he blurts it out. "I was a system kid. I tried to break all the rules. I guess no one ever gave me a reason to care. Cops brought me back in the middle of the night to the house so often they knew me by name. I knew where the good vending machine was at the station. There was a grouchy old cop that took an interest in me. He invested time in me, got me to consider the straight and narrow, inadvertently made me want to become a cop. I wanted to be like him."

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**A/N;** Samsidle, your support encourages me to push towards the finish. I feel ya... McSwarek, right? This fic is actually an elaborate set-up for the original fic idea I had (fast forward in AU time) in which Luke is out of town so Jane steps in as homicide for a case at 15 division and Andy just broke up with Luke, so she's happy it's not him, but whoa, Sam had a girl UC partner and why does their closeness make her feel jealous?

To Guest from Chapter 2, thank you! I don't understand Sam Swarek, so writing canon-Sam is an impossible task for me. But AU Sam? I can attempt that. And I agree, more Sam-centric fanfics!

Guest from Chapter 3, that is the beauty of an AU. I get to write Sam Swarek as a rookie, because in this universe, he is. It's his first UC. And sure, Jane's been working Vice for longer, but in this chapter, we get to see a little of her immaturity and unsureness. We have to remember that they're both only a few years out of the academy.


	5. Chapter 5

They go to Virginia Beach and he spends the day alternately glaring or scowling at anyone who hits on Jane. She wears a bikini top but won't take off her jeans and laughs at strangers' pick-up lines and buys him a margarita. In the end they pretend to be a couple so they'll be left alone and it's stupid, but it works and they watch the sunset and he filches a fishing rod out of a rental shack so they can cast a line off the end of the pier. The fish have silver scales that gleam bright, flashes of lights that are there and gone, gone to deeper water.

Their deal was no cell phones, they shook on it and her handshake was as firm and confident as the rest of her. Even still, he slips Jane her phone on the car ride back. Sam's the driver this way, and she has enough voicemails for one each week that they've been gone and then some. "It's fine," she says and explains that Maura leaves her a voicemail once a week when she's under to keep her updated on life outside of cover names, faux jobs and pretending. "Doesn't she know when your day off is?" he asks and Jane just looks at him. Sam can see the whites of her eyes in the dark and her face looks tired, like she's had too much sun and aged too quickly. Jane must have the number she calls on speed dial, because she only pushes two buttons before holding it to her left ear. The phone barely rings and then there is a voice he can hear and it sounds softer and higher than Jane's. The oncoming headlights seem very bright and he fixes his eyes on the yellow line to stay in the lane. Jane's voice dips down, private and lower than she's ever spoke to him and Sam tries not to eavesdrop. Focuses on the sunburn stinging the skin on back of his neck and between his shoulder blades.

"Don't you want me to wait, 'til I'm back?"  
"Of course I do."  
"I know, Maur. You know how it is."  
"I'm sorry, okay?"  
"Hey. Hey sweetheart, it's okay. I know. It's fine."  
"Yeah, we'll have to turn off our phones again. We're almost there."  
"We're close, Maur, real close. I can't say how long though. Remember what I told you last time?"  
"Okay. Love you too."  
"I will."  
"Always."

Jane goes quiet afterwards, staring at the phone in her hand until the screen goes dark. Sam is careful not to miss their exit. Rosati's waiting for them and drops them off at the bus station and they take one back to their cover apartment. Sam knows that there's nothing but a head of lettuce in the refrigerator and turns towards the corner store when they're let off. "I'm going to buy some groceries." Jane nods and opens her closed fist, fingers uncurling slowly like she's waking up. He tosses the apartment key to her and, after a second thought, the burner phone. "I won't be long." Sam walks through the frozen section and considers which fries she'll like best. Goes with potato wedges instead. Thinks about what it would be like having someone waiting on the other side for him instead of coming home to no one. He ought to get a dog. Thinks about how she pulled the hood of his sweater up over her head and walked into the front of the apartment building.

Sam puts the 1% milk that he doesn't drink in the fridge and the frozen food in the freezer. She's already in bed. He crawls in between the covers, not bothering to change and sees that she hasn't either. A week in, they decided to share the king-sized bed. It was stupid to keep trading off on the crappy couch. It killed his back and her neck, both of them too tall to fit comfortably. Already Jane's kicked him once in the gut and blamed it on a nightmare. He thinks she was just sore at him after he beat her at chess. It was a very well placed kick, is all. He lies still, his back towards her and she is restless. The mattress bows and creaks when she tosses and turns. Sam waits and waits until he can't stand it anymore. He rolls over and props himself up on his elbow, leans across towards her. "You okay?" Her eyes fly open and she flinches, not expecting to see his face hovering so close over hers. "Shit, Sam," she gasps. He stays serious. "Want to talk about it?" he asks. She shoves her pillow down onto her face. "What do you think?" it comes out muffled. "Fine," Sam says. He pats the pillow on her head and rolls out of bed. Her voice sounds different under the blanket. "Maura wants me to take a pregnancy test." Sam sits on the edge of the bed. "I didn't tell her that I already did." Jane pushes the pillow down and hugs it to her chest, stares up at nothing. "I asked her if she wanted to wait until I was back. She wants to know as bad as I did. I don't know why I didn't just tell her… I wanted to see her face." Sam feels guilty. "I should've let you go home to her," he says, rubs a hand over the barely there stubble on his chin. "Should've let me," Jane mimics and scoffs, her exhale loud, harsh. "I didn't want to go home, Sam!" Jane slaps the pillow over her face again and screams into it. Then it's quiet for a long time.

Sam's been watching the numbers on the digital clock change. He's decided to go and sleep on the couch or the floor, when she speaks up again. "I told her that Tulsa was my last UC." She sounds defeated and he's never heard her sound that way. The academy seems so long ago, it could have been in another lifetime. "That was three UCs ago. It sucks you in. I want to stop, but I don't want to face reality. Here I'm just Sasha. Sasha doesn't have any responsibilities." Sam doesn't feel like he's qualified to answer her. This is his first stint, but he can already relate. She continues, "And you know she's just stringing Matt along." Jane smiles, a little crookedly, at him, tries for some humor in the situation. The look on her face is expectant, like she's waiting for him to respond. He doesn't know how to. He doesn't know how to respond without sounding incredibly sappy and lame. "Sam," she prods with her voice. He turns to look at her. "This is where you're supposed to reassure me," she says. He's never been any good at that. "Like what?" he asks. "I don't know," she says, but then goes on, "You're supposed to tell me that I don't need to be scared. That I'll be a great mom and that Maura loves me just the way I am, baby or not, UC or not. You need to say that it's okay to not want to be a beat cop anymore, that I could make detective. You could say that I'm stronger than this, that this is normal and that it'll get better." She sounds out of breath and weary and the closest to tears he's ever heard her. He shrugs at her and says, "Why would I say what you already know, Rizzoli?" She throws the pillow at him and he catches it and throws it back. Climbs back into bed.

Sam feels like they've hit a plateau. Project Helena flatlines. It doesn't feel like climbing a mountain anymore. He can't remember the goal he used to have in mind, the light at the end of the tunnel. Now the tunnel just feels longer and darker. He can tell that Jane feels it too, although they never discuss it. She cleans the apartment before he can get around to doing it, goes grocery shopping without him, adds two more miles to her morning run. She is restless. Sam is restless. Gomez had hired Matt on as a dockworker, loading and unloading shipping containers. It was pure luck and Sam had been over the moon at the prospect of being closer to the case, closer to home. But nothing happened. Nothing happened and his hands were cracked and callused and he was still the butt of his co-worker's jokes. He never voices his complaints out loud. Even inside of his head, they sound petty and make him feel guilty and ungrateful. He doesn't sleep and he ignores Jane's pointed looks when she sees the bags under his eyes. He can't sleep.

When it's 3am and he can't sleep, he sometimes wanders downstairs to the depleted rec room in the apartment complex. Shoots pool on the worn pool table, cue scratches crisscrossing the coarse green surface. He isn't expecting Jane to show up but when she does, he isn't surprised. She's in her running clothes, snug tights with a racing stripe, tank top and pullover, mp3 player tucked into her waistband, earbuds wrapped around it. "I made coffee," she says by way of greeting, jerking her head and neck in the general direction of their apartment. Sam grunts, eyes on the table, lining up another shot. "Want to come running with me?" she asks. It's a thing that she tries from time to time. Sam doesn't mind running, used to do it regularly, before this. He hasn't felt like running since they started Helena. She circles around the table and must see how red his eyes are. "You should try to get some sleep." The numbered balls ricochet off the sides and scatter. Not a single one of them goes into a pocket. "You think I haven't been trying?" He doesn't mean to sound so short with her. It's the sleeplessness talking. She rubs his shoulder and he shrugs her off, moving around and evaluating angles. "Hey. It's not like I've been in Lala Land snoozing either." She perches on the edge of the foosball table. "Just go." Sam is faintly aware of how grouchy he feels, and not very aware of how inconsiderate he sounds. "Look, I was just trying to help, Matt," Jane growls, loud enough that she thinks she needs to call him that. Like they might be heard, 6am and alone together in the basement. Sam raises his voice, too. "Well, you're not." He closes one eye and takes another shot. The cue ball hit the red one with a resounding crack, shooting the ball into a side pocket. It's a very satisfying sound. Sam looks up and finds her staring at him, standing now, hands clenched into fists at her sides. She looks like she's fighting to contain herself. Sam doesn't help. "Eff off, Sasha." Jane, understandably, blows. "Like hell I will," she snaps and she's easily just as tall as him like this, rigid and angry. "You are a selfish bastard, Matt. You don't understand- You think you do. But you don't. You don't know what it means to have your partners back. You don't trust me." She doesn't yell the words at him. She says them and only her eyes are screaming. Sam is taken aback. He doesn't know if she is arguing for the sake of Matt and Sasha or if this is real. They are having a real fight. Sam was not intending to reach this outcome. The jab about partners is a real blow to him. He's a beat cop. He knows that you never leave your partner, no matter what. "That's where you're wrong," he says. He says it firmly, voice sharp, but not any louder. "I trust you. I trust you with my life." Sam doesn't know if this is helping. "It's myself that I don't trust." She scowls at him from beneath her dark eyebrows, kicks at the leg of the table. "You're just full of crap. We're supposed to be in this together, for the long haul, not just when everything's easy," she says. For some reason this riles him up, makes him feel like his chest is swelling. "I'm not lying to you, Sasha! You really think I'm the problem?! You don't make this easy." Sam drops the cue stick and it clatters on the floor. He points at her and the gesture seems violent, even to him. "You don't get to put the blame on me. You're just as much to blame."

And the fight becomes less and less about something and more and more about the hot rush of words and tempers flares. Jane eventually storms out. Sam adds to the scratches on the pool table. She's back from her run when he steps through their apartment door. He's cooled off, breathing again. Sets down a Danish from the gas station on her open book. She's studying for the detective's exam. "This a peace offering?" she asks and looks dubiously at it, like there's poison in the icing. "Sure, Rizzoli." Sam sits down at the table, looks at her and waits until she looks back. "Sorry for being an ass." Jane rolls the pencil between her fingers. "I'm sorry you're an ass, too," she says. Sam reaches for the pastry and she flicks the back of his hand with her pencil. "Get your own." Sam feels a little better. "Sasha's kind of a bitch sometimes," Jane says around a bite of the pastry. "I know," he says, smiles and dodges the pencil she flips at him.

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**A/N;** I apologize for the delay, been busy writing **#breakers** for NaNoWriMo. This chapter would not stop growing. The pool table/argument scene was not planned. (of course, it's totally my crossover headcanon that Sam picks up the "sweetheart" tic from Jane) Only one chapter left!


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